By The Fire
by pgrabia
Summary: Wilson called House over to the loft for a life-changing conversation.  Post-Ep response to and SPOILERS for 7x11: "Family Medicine".  House/Wilson preslash/slash; mention of H/Cu and W/OMC.  Adult concepts.  Reader discretion advised.


**Title: ****By the Fire**

**Author: ****pgrabia**

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Genre(s): **House-Wilson Pre-Slash/Slash, Romance, Angst.

**Character(s)/Pairing(s): **G. House, J. Wilson, L. Cuddy (mentioned)/ House/Wilson, mention of House/Cuddy and Wilson/OMC

**Word Count: **2040

**Warnings: **Spoilers for all Seasons and episodes up to Season 7 episode 11 "Family Medicine".

**Rating: **R(M)

**Author's Notes:** This is a response fic to Episode 7x11: "Family Medicine". It's rated M/R to be safe due to the adult subject matter and coarser language. There are no gratuitous or explicit sexual descriptions or situations. After last night's episode I was angry at the complete absence of Wilson from the show but no satisfactory explanation as to why. I was also convinced that TPTB are asserting that Wilson is no longer wanted or needed by House now that he has Cuddy. I wrote this to cheer myself—and hopefully others—up. If you're a Huddy, you won't like this so you might as well move on to the next fic on the list.

—

Greg House stood outside his best friend's apartment, debating whether or not to knock. Wilson had called him and asked him to come over but hadn't gone into detail as to why. He had sounded somber, so the older man had agreed. A big part of him wanted to turn around and go home but he couldn't. The world around him was insane. Nothing made sense—he didn't even know who he was anymore. All he knew was that he couldn't go on like this any longer. That's why he decided to knock. His world—hell, even his sanity—was falling apart and the safest place he could think of was anywhere Wilson was.

From deep inside the apartment Wilson called out, "Use your key!"

House almost smirked; that was _his_ line. He reached into his pocket and found his keychain. Selecting the right key he unlocked the door and opened it. The entire place was dark except for a dim flickering coming from the common area of the loft. House dropped his jacket and helmet at the door, not even bothering to hang it up. He followed the flickering into the living room. A single dark silhouette stood out against the yellow-orange light cast off by the burning logs in the fireplace. House walk towards it.

Wilson was reclined on his side in front of the fire. He wore a deep spicy orange sweater and jeans. Completely captivated by the dancing flames in front of him he didn't move when House came up to him and lay on his back on the floor between the oncologist and the hearth. Neither man looked at each other, preferring to be silent for a long while, each lost in his own thoughts.

It was Wilson who spoke first, his voice soft and wistful. "I miss you."

House nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyes on the vaulted ceiling.

"Me too," he whispered.

"When is enough going to be enough?" the younger man asked. "How long is this most recent round of self-flagellation going to last?"

"I can't quit now," House replied, frustration and sorrow in his voice. "I can't fail again."

Wilson sighed but was silent a moment longer before replying. "You already have. You're in denial. I know a thing or two about that."

House rolled onto his side and leaned his head against his hand, propped on his elbow. He was facing Wilson now, blue eyes searching brown.

"I really could have used you this weekend," he told the younger man. "I needed advice in the worst way."

A nod answered that. "I heard. I needed some time to myself. I had a lot of thinking to do."

House searched his face in the dim light but it was a mask that he saw.

"I'm sure it was about the harpy and how much you miss her; in other words, not as urgent as my need for advice was."

Wilson's eyes found his. They were turbulent with emotion that didn't make it to his face.

"I've been pretending almost my entire life," he told House intensely. "I came to the conclusion that I can't pretend anymore."

Frowning slightly, House tried to figure out what he was talking about but couldn't.

"About what?" the diagnostician asked softly, wondering if he should have asked. He didn't know if he wanted to get into a deep discussion with his best friend; it was relatively uncharted territory between them.

"I can't pretend anymore that I'm not in love with you," was the non-euphemistic reply.

House stared at him for a few moments, stunned. His brain was having difficulty accepting what he was hearing. At first he wondered if he'd heard him right, but he knew he had. Now he was the one who needed a little time to think. Stiffly he managed to pick himself off of the floor and grabbed his cane. His first impulse was to leave the loft and not come back, but House knew that he didn't really want to do that. He limped toward the fireplace and leaned against the mantle, staring into the flames as if they could give him what it was that he _did_ want.

"Wow," the younger man whispered from behind him, his voice carrying across the nearly silent room, "I was expecting you to leave."

House's lips twitched upward at that. "Maybe I should have," he admitted ruefully, "but I can't seem to do that when it comes to you." He wasn't talking about the temporary removal of himself from the room but from the oncologist's life. "For how long?"

He didn't see the bittersweet smile on the younger man's lips. "I'm not certain. It didn't hit me like a bolt of lightning one day. It kind of grew on me."

House look back at him, now smirking. "What am I, a fungus?"

Wilson laughed softly.

House loved the sound of his laughter and the sparkle there in his dark eyes. He could help but want to smile when he heard it, saw it.

"Why didn't you tell me before this?" he asked his best friend without recrimination. He was genuinely curious.

He could barely see the other man shrug.

"I suspect it was for the same reason _you_ didn't tell _me_."

It was such a blunt, bold-faced statement, said with full confidence but lacking in arrogance. House closed his eyes. The moment he'd thought about a million times over the years had finally come and it was nothing like the way he had imagined.

"I know that I've been an asshole," Wilson continued softly, his voice heavy with emotion. "I've pushed you and pulled you so many times that you must have felt like a two-way door. I couldn't allow myself to accept the truth. I couldn't leave you and I couldn't push you away. God knows I tried. But House, _it wasn't _because you weren't good enough or a burden. No, it was because I didn't want to admit to myself that I was in love with another man."

House looked back into the flames, his mind spinning with new revelations and incongruent assumptions. He had assumed that Wilson was straight, that he couldn't fall in love with him. He hadn't been aware of the fact that Wilson had been aware of his feelings for him. Everything that had happened over the years was laced with lies spun by both of them and yet this moment felt like the truest in the diagnostician's entire life.

"Why are you telling me _now_?" House demanded quietly, after swallowing hard.

Silence met his questions. He glanced at his best friend, wondering if the man had slipped out of the room without him noticing. Wilson stared at him unwaveringly. His eyes glistened but his face was emotionless.

"Because," Wilson murmured, "I've met someone."

Feeling his heart drop into his stomach, House turned his entire body to face him. He opened his mouth to question him but the younger man answered him before he could even ask.

"Just recently. He wants something more than just casual sex. I'm lonely. I need somebody. I don't want him; I want _you_, but I can't wait for your relationship with Cuddy to fall apart because I'm coming to realize that that may never happen on its own. I care too much about Lisa to compete openly with her for you and hurt her that way. I know that I'm not being fair. I'm sorry about that, but life isn't fair."

"I'm with Cuddy. I love her; I don't want to hurt her. What do you want me to do?"

Wilson sighed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering.

"I want you to choose."

House stared into his eyes. He loved Cuddy, would have done anything to make his relationship with her work—hell, he already had—but if it was a choice between her and Wilson, there was only one choice he could make. That being said, he couldn't just tell her it was over, then walk away. He had to do it slowly, ease into it…

"I need time," he responded almost pleadingly.

Looking down at the blanket beneath him again, the oncologist was silent. The only sound in the room was the snapping and crackle from the fire eating away at the wood in the hearth. It was only a few seconds, but to House it felt like an eternity, before Wilson answered him.

"If you need time, then you've just made your choice." The younger man said it with finality and regret.

House felt like what he'd always wanted was slipping through his fingers and he desperately needed to hold onto to it before it was gone. "No!" he snapped urgently. "You can't spring this on me then expect me to just drop her with one phone call. You said you care about Cuddy. If you do you won't ask me to be that cruel to her. I choose _you_, but I have to break it to her gently. She deserves that."

That seemed to have the desired effect on Wilson. He rose slowly to his feet and approached the fireplace. He leaned against it only a foot away from the diagnostician. House couldn't help but notice how good he looked and smelled; he wanted to find out if Wilson felt and tasted just as good.

"I'll give you until Wednesday," the younger man told him. "That gives you two days. If you need longer than that—"

"I don't," House assured him, closing the distance between them, blue eyes searching brown for any sign of duplicity or objection to him being so close, but there was none. "How do I know I won't become ex-Mrs. Wilson number four?"

Wilson cracked a smile at that, reached out to comb his fingers through House's short hair. The older man's breath hitched at the contact, every hair the oncologist touched tingling his scalp.

"Because you don't need me anymore," was the answer, "but I still love you and want you—perhaps more than ever."

That was the key, the diagnostician realized. He slowly wrapped his arms around the younger man's waist and pulled him against him; he bent slightly and touched his lips against Wilson's gingerly, his eyes wide open and scanning the other's face for permission to proceed. He received it when he felt Wilson's hand move up slowly along his side, caressing him through his shirt the entire way; a hand arrived on the back of his neck and pulled him into a more passionate yet tender kiss that caused House's heart to beat hard and fast in his chest and miss the contact once it was over.

"When are you going to tell Romeo to take a hike?" House growled seductively, resting his forehead against Wilson's.

A sly smile spread across the younger man's face. "I already did," he admitted, "right after I got off the phone with you."

House looked at the other man in disbelief and grudging admiration. He'd just been played so expertly that it had snuck up on him unawares. He opened his mouth to say something to that but Wilson swallowed whatever it was he said when he covered House's mouth again with his own.

_**~Fin~**_


End file.
